Knight in Shining Armor
by adrik rochev
Summary: Captured by the English, Ivan tries to find a way to survive in captivity; luckily he has a blonde Canadian prince to help him.
1. Meeting

Armour clinked together as two soldiers forced a third unto the ground; kneeling before a fourth man. Blood red uniform accented with gold; white sash crossing over his chest; right shoulder down to left hip. Blonde hair; thick brows. Green eyes, glaring daggers at the ash blonde man kneeling before him.

"Do you surrender?" Teeth gritted together; lavender eyes narrowed as they looked up at the Englishman.

"пошел на хуй, вы английски свинья!" (fuck you, you English pig!) Came a gruff response in a harsh Russian dialogue. The Russian spat at the Englishman's shoes, earning a swift boot to the stomach, causing him to slump forward in pain. He let out a long hiss as a heavy boot pressed against his skull, driving his face into the cold stones that made up the floor.

"What was that Russki?" the Englishman pressed his foot down harder again the ask blondes skull; his nose pressing painfully into the dirty stone. "Hmm? What was that?" He let out a soft hiss of pain, feeling blood trickle from his nose.

"Father, stop it. You're hurting him," The boot removed itself from his head; allowing the Russian to return to a kneeling position once more. A petite blonde boy hung off the Englishman's arm, his pale cheeks flushed. "Look, you broke his nose," the young blonde pouted, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket as he moved towards the Russian. Delicate fingers touched his cheek as the young man wiped the blood from his nose, smiling softly at him. "Better?" the Russian opened his mouth to response, but caused, watching as the British captain batted away the younger mans hand.

"Don't touch that dirty Russki Matthew," He growled out before turned to the two soldiers guarding the Russian. "Take him downstairs and put him in one of the cells. And don't give him anything either," the two lesser soldiers grabbed the Russian under the arms; standing him upright before walking him towards a set of stairs.

"Father! You can't do that!" Matthew cried. "He'll die if you don't give him anything!" Arthur turned to him; eyes narrowed in anger. "F-father.." Arthur turned to the younger man, putting his hands on both shoulders.

"Matthew. We have bigger problems to worry about then some stupid Russki. We have to keep them out of Sevastopol, and supplies are getting harder and harder to get to the soldier now and- Why the hell and I telling you? You have no interest in this. Fine. If it matters so much to you I will leave him in your care to keep alive," A smile lit Matthew's face and Arthur looked away, a frown on his face. "For now. But do not forget Matthew. That Russki is a prisoner of war and he will be treated as such,"

"Yes Father. I understand," Matthew gave him a small smile gracing his lips. "Thank you for being considerate," Matthew game him a small bow as he left; going towards the stairs where the two soldiers had taken the Russian.

Heels clicking on the stone floors, Matthew looked around for the soldiers watching over the Russian; he shivered as he looked around; pulling his tailcoat closer around his thin frame. "Hello?" he called out timidly; but received no response; only a few groans from some of the other prisoners. "Hello?" He went closer to one of the cells, looking in to see who was in it. A hand snaked though the bars, grabbing him by the wrist. He let out a cry; taking a step back. A man looked back at him; greasy brown hair, dirt caked his skin; smelling something horrid. "Let go!" he whimpered out, and the prisoner complied with his request.

"Prince, I thought you of him. My apologies," The man bowed and disappeared into the darkness of the cell.

"Wait.. did you see the guards bring in a man not long ago?" he asked, clutching to the bars, squinting into the darkness.

"With a man shouting in tongues, to the last cell," came a quick response from the dark, voice low. Matthew nodded, a small smile on his lips.

"Thank you. I will bring you a treat tomorrow, for your help,"

"M'lord, you are gods gift to earth," Matthew let his fingers drift from the bars of the cell door as he moved onward to the end of the prison; towards the only cell with a solid metal door. One guard stood beside the entrance; the other no wheres in side. A muffled sound echoed around them and Matthew frowned.

"Where is John?" Matthew asked, looking at the guard.

"He's with the prisoner," came the guards quick response.

"Open the door. Father has granted me care over this prisoner," Matthew said in a quiet voice. The guard looked at him; eyes boring into Matthew's. A loud bang echoed from the room. "Open the Door George," The lock on the door clanged loudly as it slid open and the thick metal door groaned loudly as George pushed it open.

"Stupid bloody Red!" a leg swung towards the Russian; shackled to the wall with thick chains of iron clasped around his wrists, unable to ward off the attack. The Russian spat out blood as it dripped from his pale red lips. "Weak little fucker aren't you?"

"John! Stop!" Matthew yelled as the elder man raised his fist. "What do you think you are doing?" Matthew growled out; a frown covering his face. "Get out! I don't even want to hear your excuses. George, get me a wash basin and some cloths,"

"Y-yes m'lord," George disappeared from sight and John; not too far behind. Matthew turned his attention back to the Russian in front of him; his expression softening.

"I'm going to take this armour off you okay?"

"да"

"Yes?"

"да" Matthew smiled softly, and stepped closer to the Russian. He unlocked the lock connecting the two iron cuffs together, then began removing the steel slabs that made up the Russian armour. After the armour was removed the Russian was simply dressed in brown pants and a beige shirt. Matthew went over to the basin and dipped a cloth into the warm water before ringing it out and walking back over to the ash haired man. Dark eyes glared up at the blonde as he took the cloth in one hand and his chin in the other and gently began to wash away the blood and grime.

"Sorry about John. He's a jackass. Takes a little too much love in his job. But you'll be in my care until Father knows what he's going to do with you. I'm Matthew, by the way," he chatted to the non-responsive Russian. "Can you tell me your name?" he paused for a moment; brushing some hair out of his eyes. "Who?"

"Ivan," rolled the thick Russian accent and Matthew shivered. Ivan stood abruptly, and Matthew fell back against the stoney floor, wincing as he scraped his arm.

"Ow," he whined, sitting up, rubbing his arm. "You could be nicer you know," Matthew frowned. "What am I thinking. You don't understand me anyways,"

"Vhy, vould I speak vith you, a English harlot?" came a accented response. "Go and please that pig you call "Father," Matthew gaped at him as he pushed himself into a standing position.

"You speak English? How come -"

"Get out of my sight you English sow," Ivan gritted out, eyes narrowed, arms crossed over his chest. "I would prefer to die in solitude," A resounded slap echoed though the cell; blood rose to Ivan's cheek in which had been slapped.

"I'm not English, and I'm not a sow or a harlot! I'm trying to make this as comfortable as I can for you; unless you rather starve to death like my father wants, you prick!" the Russian's eyes narrowed into slits as he stepped forward towards Matthew, who stepped back, eyes wide as Ivan stared him down with a deadly glare. A few steps and Matthew's back was pressed against the wall, Ivan towering over him. Ivan's thick fingers brushed against his neck. Matthew looked up at him; violet eyes wide in fear.

"Не стоит даже время. " (Not even worth my time) Ivan murmured, squeezing down tightly on Matthew's windpipe before releasing him; turned and sat against the stone wall. Matthew wheezed; trying to regain is breath; pupils dilated, eyes wide with fright.

"I-I..." he stuttered, scrambling to his feet, still gasping for breath. Thin body trembling, shaking, trying to calm his heart down and prevent himself from having a panic attach.

"Poor Matvey, so scared of big Russia," Ivan sneered at him, as he began to rise from the floor. "I vonder vhat you will do if I get aggressive with you. Call daddy perhaps?" Ivan's eyes narrowed. " может быть, вам стоит моего времени в конце концов," ( maybe you are worth my time after all)

"W-w-what?" Matthew whimpered softly, biting his lip as he tried to hide his shaking jaw. He took a few steps towards the door; tripping over the wash basin, water splashing over its sides as it tipped before settling back down.

"Are you attentive to all your father's prisoners like this?" Ivan growled out. Matthew flushed.

"I-I'll b-be back l-later with d-dinner," he squeaked out before quickly knocking on the door. It creaked open and the blonde slipped out before it shut

Ivan left out an annoyed sigh as he began to pace in his confined space, growling in Russian under his breath._Captured _he though sourly, tugging at his collar. _But little Matvey... Very interesting._

Matthew made his ways though the long corridors in search of his rooms. He still felt sick to his stomach over his visit with the Russian prisoner, Ivan. He wasn't sure what came over him; caused him to go against his 'father' and want to take care of some prisoner. He never had done this before. The colour rose to his cheeks as he entered his rooms, the ash blonde man's handsome face fresh in his mind. He closed the door and leaned against the dark wood for a moment before moving; over to his bed; face first into his pillows with a dramatic sigh. After a moment he turned over onto his back, looking up at his canopy. His fingers brushed against his neck, the feeling of Ivan's tight grip lingering. A soft whimper left his lips as he felt a shiver run down his body. It had been a long time since he felt this way about anyone. His obsession with his Papa's friend Gilbert had long since passed. It had been so short lived. The albino had left in a whisper of white robes and then his Papa had sent him to live with his father. Matthew wiggled around, pushing the blankets out from under himself and crawling into their warmth. His hands, together by his head, but his mind elsewhere.

"Master Matthew, are you awake? It is time for your evening meal," the soft voice of a servant came though the bedroom door, and Matthew groaned.

"Yes Anne, I'm awake. Thank you for waking me," he called out to her from the bed. He could hear the soft clicks of her heels against the floor as she walked away. Matthew pushed back his blankets and sat up. He shook his head as he got out of bed and walked towards the en-suite bathroom to brush his head and freshen up before dinner.

After releaving himself and combing though his snarly hair, Matthew glanced at himself in the tall mirror on the way out of the bathroom. Dark purple bruises imprinted on his neck like ink on paper from where Ivan had pressed down on him. He bit his lip frowning, unsure of what he could wear to cover up the marks. Surely his father would forbid his visits with the Russian because of this, if he found out. He barely knew the man and he already did not want to cut their meetings short. He walked back into his room and made his way over to his wardrobe, opening the large drawers. He looked outside to the window on his left. He shivered at the flakes of snow that fluttered in the air and grabbed a thin scarf, given to him by his Papa, Francis; showing off his french heritage with blue, white and red stripes.

"What in bloody hell is that around your neck?" Arthur growled at him as he entered the dining room. Arthur's eyes burned into him as he made his way to the table and sat down.

"I-It's a scarf father," he replied in a small voice.

"Rubbing in that frog, are you?" Arthur shook his head and waved Matthew off with his hand. "Whatever it may be. Sit down and eat up," he commanded. Matthew nodded and sat down, the entire dinner awkward and silent. After he had finished his soup, Matthew stood, and began clearing away his dishes, pausing only as Arthur's glare burned into him. "That is the servant's job Matthew," Matthew set the bowl back down on the table with a sigh.

"I am going to bring something down to the Russian prisoner," he said softly, turning towards the kitchen and avoiding the statement his father had made. "I will be back shortly," Matthew walked to the kitchen and looked around. He grabbed some bread and cheese from the cupboard, and a knife from the butchers box before cutting and slicing them into cubes and bread slices. He grabbed a few pieces of meat that had been left over from supper and put everything on a plate, along with some crackers. He glanced over at the wine rack to his left, selecting a bottle of red wine that Francis had sent him a few months back. He paused, looking back at the rack. If Arthur knew he was spoiling a prisoner then he would get punished. Matthew flushed; shaking his head. He gathered up the items for the meal and headed out to the basement where the prisoners were held.

Matthew shivered as he descended down onto the basement. He paused at the cell of the man who had helped him earlier when he had first came down and gave him a piece of the leftover meat.

"Many thanks, M'lord, many thanks," the prisoner thanked Matthew before retreating into the darkness of his cell; devouring the small piece of meat.

"George, having a good shift?" Matthew asked the guard as he got closer to Ivan's cell. "Can you open the door for me?"

"Ah; yes, good m'lord, and yes, I certainly can," He replied with a quick bow, and moved to open the door. "Just knock when you are finished and I will open the door,"

"Thank you," Matthew replied with a shy smile, nodding his head as George moved out of his way so he could enter the cell. "Ivan," Matthew called out as the door shut behind him. The cell was rather dark and he almost wished for a candle to brighten it up some. "I have brought you something to eat. I made most of it myself, so you don't have to worry about it tasting bad," When he got no response back from the Russian; he let out a soft sigh and placed the tray and the wine bottle down by the door. "Hmm. Well I'll just leave it by the door," he said, mostly to himself as he turned to knock on the door to have George open it.

An arm wrapped itself around his waist, another moved and a hand covered his mouth. "How sweet, you came back," came a hiss in his ear. Matthew stiffened; his heart pounding in his chest. Ivan's hot breath brushing against the back of his neck; his body pressed against his. "Did I scare you немного подсолнечного? (little sunflower?)" a throaty laugh left Ivan as he released Matthew from his hold.

Matthew's whimper did not go unnoticed. "Such a small, fragile country. No wonder you live with England. I can only imagine how you must feel to compete with Amerika," he hissed out. "How does your 'father' feel about this tryst?" He laughs at Matthew's red faced, sputtering reaction.

"W-what are you talking about?" he sputters out, stepping back from Ivan. "This is not a...a t-tryst!" he turns to walk to the door but Ivan reaches out, grabbing his wrist. Matthew let out a yelp; Ivan's grip crushing his bones together. He pulled Matthew towards him, chains rattling at the movement; Matthew's thin frame against Ivan's larger one.

"Vhy would you help me? Go against your father's command and help a enemy?" he paused for a moment, giving room for the younger man to reply. After a moment with nothing but a shaky breath, he continued. "Obviously there is something about me that has you-" he pressed a hand to Matthew's chest, pressing him against himself. "Feel something," Matthew went rigid against him, before clawing at his hand, pushing away from him.

"N-nothing!" Matthew gasped out as Ivan dug his fingers painfully into Matthew's stomach. "It's-"

"I think it's affection, perhaps, since your father never pays attention to you and Francis-" there was a sharp intake of breath at Francis's name. "Abandoned you," Ivan' s right hand snaked up from it's place around Matthew and came to rest under his chin, pressing into his throat, turning his head towards Ivan at an awkward angle. "You want someone to pay attention to you," A whimper escaped Matthew as he tried to twist out of Ivan's hold, but Ivan's grip only tightened. Ivan yanked at the scarf around his throat, pulling it loose. His finger imprints still visible bruises from earlier.

"I-I-"

"You don't care, do you?" Ivan asked, releasing him with a hard shove to the ground. " As long as someone acknowledges you," Matthew looks up it at, his eyes glassed over, near tears.

"T-that's not-"

"Take care of me little Matvey. Let me use you while I am trapped and I will never abandon you," Ivan said in the softest voice he could muster. He sank to his knees, chains clanking together as he strained against them, the muscles in his arms bulging as he strained against them, reaching for Matthew.

"I- Yes. I-I'll take care of you," Soft fingers, tentatively reach towards Ivan, brushing against his cheekbones. A shy smile. Matthew's cheeks lightened up with a blush and he dropped his hand from Ivan's face.

"Come closer/little sunflower/" Ivan said, sitting back with his back against the cell wall. "Feed me," he says, gesturing to the tray of food Matthew had brought in with him. Matthew scampered over and got the tray, along with the wine and brought it close to Ivan.

Matthew pressed a piece of cheese to his lips and Ivan flicked his tongue out, pulling the tangy cube into his mouth, his stomach growling on impact. Matthew continued to feel him pieces of cheese and crackers, of meat and sips of wine, until everything was gone. Ivan licked at his lips, reddened with the wine. Matthew moved the tray away and just sat by Ivan, almost contented. He glanced down at the boy beside him, who's mauve eyes seemed to be avoiding his own, pressed the pads of his fingers to Matthew's cheek, turning his head so he could look into those frightened eyes. Matthew bit down on his bottom lip, casting his eyes downward, away from Ivan. He pressed his lips, rough and cracked, to Matthew's soft, rosy cheek.

"Ah Matvey, you are cute. Thank you for easing my hunger," Matthew let out a squeak and pushed him away, moving to stand and grabbed the tray and wine bottle.

"I-I need to g-go," Matthew shuddered out, quickly going to the door and knocking. George opened the door and with a quick glance towards Ivan, Matthew left.

Matthew collapsed onto his bed, face pressing into his plush pillows as he tried to sort his mind out. Why? Why had he agreed to let Ivan use him? Yes. It was true that Arthur never paid attention to him. It was true that Alfred was his favourite and got all the attention. And it was true that he felt that Francis had abandoned him. How could he feel anything else but. Being shipped off to England's house made him feel small. Even though he was bigger then England and Francis. Even Alfred for that matter. He turned over on his back and let out a long sigh as he reached over and picked up his polar bear Kumajiro he had been given from Francis. How did Ivan know Francis anyways? Who knew. He clutched at the bear tightly, rolling back unto his stomach. He still could nor believe that Ivan had kissed him. Even though it was just a kiss of thanks, on his cheek. He still felt shy and embarrassed by it. That had been the most affection he'd had in a long time. Matthew smiled softly to himself. Even if it was false affection to make Ivan's time as a prisoner more bearable. Matthew cast a glance towards the window. The darkness of the evening creeping into his room.


	2. Post

Chapter 2 – Post.

"Boy, there is post for you," Matthew looked at his father for a moment, watching as the older blonde turned the page of the newspaper he was reading. "From the frog,"

"From Papa?" he repeated, a smile spreading over his soft features. As excited as he was, he calmly walked over to the coffee table and picked up the envelope. He tore off the seal and quickly pulled out the letter.

"Of course it's from _Papa_," Arthur sneered, shaking out his paper to straighten the pages before he let go of it with one hand to reach to the end table beside him and grasped his handle of his tea cup between his fingers. "What is he going on about this time?" he asked, tone a bit more soft, curious.

"He, ummm..." Matthew pauses for a moment as he skims over the letter. "He's coming to visit once the channel is travel worthy. Also that Alfred is doing okay, but he's thinking it may take a while yet to recover from the war," He adds in a light tone, knowing it will upset Arthur, but he will be happy to know the news, even if it doesn't appear to be so.

"Bloody bastard," he hears from Arthur, grumbled under his breath. "Always rubbing it in," He shakes his head before taking a sip of tea. Matthew let the letter back down on the coffee table before he turned to make leave. "And that idiot you call a brother..." he trailed off.

"I'm going to go and-"

"A suitor is coming today," Arthur cut him off, his tone indifferent. "A nice Turkish bloke. Adnan? I think was his last name. He'll be joining us for supper," Matthew froze, swallowing, his adams apple bobbing. Adnan?. Matthew shook his head briefly. No idea who he was. He bit his lip, trying to keep the noise from escaping his throat at his displeasure. All he knew was that he did not want to be wed to someone he didn't even know.

"Yes Father," he murmured as he left he left the parlour, a frown on his face as he headed in the direction of the kitchen so he could get some breakfast for the prisoner under his watch.

After filling a tray full of fresh meats, fruit and cheese; he grabbed a canteen of water before heading down to the prison area. George opened the door to Ivan's cell once he came in view. He smiled shyly at the guard to blushed back in response.

"There you go little Prince," he murmured as Matthew slipped into the Russians cell. He set the items in his hands down on the small table that was now sitting by the door before he turned in the semi-darkness of the room. The door pinging closed startling him, making him jump. He pressed further into the small room, jumping again at the sound of chains rattling and then the feel of thick arms wrapping around his midsection.

"I-Ivan!" Matthew squealed, an undignified noise escaping from his throat as Ivan licked a stripe up the slender column that was Matthew's neck.

"Vat?" The Russian murmured after a moment, directly into his ear. "Did I scare you?" His tone was soft, caring almost, his large hands sliding into place at Matthew's hips.

"L-lets g-get you fed," Matthew said in a soft tone, pushing Ivan's hands off him, and ignoring his question. He moved just out of Ivan's reach as he went to retrieve the tray he had brought with him. Ivan growled in annoyance. It had been three weeks since he was first imprisoned in the god forsaken Englishman's castle prison. Twenty-one days of seeing the blonde currently in front of him, and hardly being able to touch. Matthew turned to him and bit his lip after glancing at Ivan, looking at him demurely. Ivan wanted nothing more then to knock the silly tray to the ground and grab hold of the other boy; but his mind disregarded his bodies want; ignored self pleasure for healthy foods that would keep him alive. He licked his lips before opening his mouth to Matthew's offering of cheese and meats and bread.

"Vhy are you still doing this?" Ivan asked him as he finished eating the last piece of bread and took the canteen of water in his chained wrists.

"I..I.." Matthew stuttered. "Why can't you be a Prince too?" he murmured in a low voice as he stood up; so low that Ivan could not fully make out what he had said. He shook his head before starting again on his original thought. "I..I may not be able to soon..Father wants me to marry soon. I have a visit from a suitor later today... A nice Turkish man," Matthew didn't have time to even blink before Ivan's fingers where curled around his slender throat, squeezing.

"You are mine, you understand?" He hissed, grip tightening. Matthew brought his hands up, clawing at Ivan's, his eyes wide and frightened. He let out a strangled gasp; trying to get air into his lungs. "Mine. No Turkish or French or British pig is going to have you, ты моя. Я убью тебя, прежде чем я никому еще у вас."(You are mine. I will kill you before I let anyone else have you," Ivan continued, but let go, and Matthew crumbled onto the floor. He sucked in a shuddering gasp, filling his lungs one again, he bit down on his lip after a moment, trying to stop the flood of tears threatening to spill.

"I—I-"

"They won't love you, they'll just use you and then forget you even exist," Ivan hissed, trying to move closer, but the chains pulled at his arms, preventing him from gathering the crying blonde into his arms. "Do you want to be forgotten? Do you vant to be used Matvey?" he continued.

"N-no..." the blonde whimpered, closing his eyes tightly, body shivering.

"Then find a way to get me out of here," Ivan growled lowly, pulling at his chains which dug into the already tender flesh of his wrists. Matthew inhaled a shaky breath, moving closer, walking on his knees to do so, taking Ivan's hand in his own, pressing kisses to the purplish bruised flesh of Ivan's wrist. He then pressed his cheek into the cupped palm of Ivan's hand; cold against the heated flush on his cheeks.

"P-Papa's coming to visit me in a few weeks, it..it might be enough distraction to get the keys from Father...at least for these cuffs," Matthew murmured softly, turning his attention to Ivan's face. He pressed soft lips to Ivan's cheek before pulling away. Ivan growled and grabbed at him, fingers digging into a slender wrist, pulling at Matthew so he landed awkwardly, knees digging into Ivan's thighs as was pulled again. Chapped lips brushed against his own soft ones, wet tongue snaking out to rub against Matthew's bottom lip. The blonde tried to jerk back but was held steady by the Russian's hand which had snaked behind his head, holding at the base of his neck. Ivan brought his hand up to Matthew's chin, sliding his fingers upward slightly, middle finger hooking on the corner of his mouth, pushing it open enough so he could slip his tongue inside of the others wet mouth.

"Nhhh!" Matthew made a muffled noise, his fist rising and hitting against Ivan's chest; but he did not make a real effort to escape. Ivan's tongue slipped Matthew's rubbing against the thick muscle, against the top of his mouth, running over his teeth. Matthew made another whimpering noise at the back of his throat; hands moving around to Ivan's thick neck, circling around. After a moment, Matthew pulled away, gasping for breath, stolen from him. Cheeks redden even further, he stumbled back from Ivan, scurrying to step away from him.

"Matvey-"

"I..I need to go n-now," he cut off quietly, quickly picking up his disregarded tray before knocking on the door for George to let him out. Ivan pushed himself up from the floor where he had been sitting; now pacing his small cell. A growl escaped his throat as he paused, slamming his fist against the stone wall.

"Бог дан ит," (God damn it).

A month had passed since he last received correspondence from Francis. He had been keeping his distance from Ivan; since the incident with wherein he had kissed him. Sadiq, his Turkish suitor, whom had, while a very pleasant man, had been more then double his age, and knew both of his parents. However, now that he thought about it, Ivan was a lot older then him as well, so it was a bit hypercritical of him to think of Sadiq like that. It had been an awkward dinner with both him and Arthur to say the least. But he had been a kind man, gentle with him in their interactions and a bit soft spoken. Or at least with him it seemed to be that way with him. Once he had left the dining, he had listened for a moment after he had shut the door, ear pressed to the cool hardwood and his voice had been much louder then when he had been in the room. He closed the book in his hands shut with a snap, his eyes moving to the window, rain hitting against the glass pane lightly as he set the book down on the stand beside his arm chair. His eyes widened as they caught sight of a carriage coming up the long drive way, off in the distance. He stood up quickly, almost knocking the stand next to him down to the floor. He walked out of his sitting room and down stairs.

"Papa!" Matthew cried, throwing the door open before running outside to meet his French parent as his carriage pulled up to the castle manor. "Papa, it's so nice to see you!" He cried again, happily throwing his arms around his father.

"Ah, Mon Cher, did you miss me?" the Frenchman asked, kissing Matthew on both cheeks in greeting.

"Oui, of course I did!" Matthew whined. "Father is so harsh!" Francis chuckled as he wrapped an arm around Matthew's shoulders, walking him towards the entrance as his driver carried in his luggage.

"Ah, Arthur is Arthur after all, silly Englishman. Let's forget about him. Tell me all about your love affair with this boy you've been writing me about," he said in a hushed tone as they made their way though the long halls towards the guest rooms.

"Papa! It's... It's not a love a-affair!" Matthew let out an undignified noise, pushing the door open to Francis' room. The driver, who had been walking behind them with his bags slipped by them as the stood near the door and set the luggage down. He stood there for a moment before turning to him and waving him off. The man left with a curt nod in Francis' direction and slipped back out the door. Francis moved to the bed, sitting down on the side of it, the mattress sinking under his weight. He patted the space next time him motioning for Matthew to follow him. Matthew took up a seat next time him, clasping his hands together, resting them in his lap.

"Start from the beginning, mon cher," Francis said in a soft tone. Matthew looked over at him, an almost hopeless look covering his features.

"Well..." Matthew trailed off, looking back down at his hands. "Well, You and Father have been fighting with the Ottoman's against the Russian since last October, yes? Well, just over a month ago Father had captured a few of the Russian soldiers; one of them, a higher ranked soldier he's been keeping in the cells down in the basement. He's... I mean... Father was kicking and hitting him or whatever sort of torture he does and I couldn't bare to watch it and... and... Father allowed me to take care of him while he's down there, but he... he kissed me! And when Sadiq, that Turkish suitor Father had me see came, he..that is, the Russian, got mad and left bruises where he grabbed at me Papa! I don't know what to do!" he ended, his voice wavering slightly. Francis looked at him for a moment, tapping his index finger against his chin in thought.

"Ah, Cher, you are a naive little one..." He murmured. "It sounds like he may be a little bit jealous Matthieu. How old is dis Russian gentlemen?" Francis asked. Matthew turned his head to face is Papa.

"Ummm... I... I don't really know Papa... I can't think he'd be older then you or Father though," If Francis had had a drink in his mouth he would have spit it out.

"M-my age?! Isn't that a little old for you Matthieu? Ah, what am I saying; L'Amour can't be stopped can it?" He asked, standing up once more. He motioned for Matthew to follow him. He let out a small laugh as they walked out of his rooms and down the long hall towards the parlour room where Arthur was currently lounging with a copy of Oliver Twist in his hand; pressed against his face as he dozed off.

"D'Angleterre!" Francis called as he walked into the parlour.

"W-what?!" Arthur yelled, startling awake as the novel in his hand fell to the floor. "Francis!" He muttered under his breath, cheeks quickly turning pink with embarrassment. "I don't even know why you bothered to come here," he continued to grumble as he got up from the chair and bent over to retrieve his book form the floor; Francis' eyes following him.

"I did not come to see you, I came here to see my darling son Arthur," Francis said with a shrug of his shoulders, eyes narrowing at the green eyed blonde. Arthur opened his mouth, but then closed it, deciding not to spit out a come back. "And he was just telling me about the Russian you're keeping in ze basement," He said loftily.

"That Russian is a prisoner of war!" Arthur hissed back. "He was not much of an Admiral if he got captured in the first battle he fought in! He's my prisoner and he stay here until I drag every last piece of information I need out of him!"

"Father you can't! It's cruel! He's just a man!" Matthew yelled at Arthur, stomping his foot down. He bit at his lip, trying to keep his eyes free of tears.

"You are not to see that Russki any more Matthew," Arthur sneered as he turned towards the window; rain pitter-patted against the window; the cold autumn wind blowing into the remaining leaves of the trees.

"Father!" Matthew protested, shoulders held stiff. "You'll starve him to death, if you don't beat him to death first! You think you can be careful and hurt him in places that I can't see, but I'm not as stupid as you think I am!" he shouted at Arthur before he turned and stormed out of the room. Francis cast a quick glance towards him as he passed him. He then turned his attention to Arthur, hands on his hips.

"You are a prick sometimes Arthur. I don't know why he even stays here with you. I'm taking him back with me to France,"

"You will do no such thing!" Arthur said with a snort. "You gave him up. You're the one who left him after all. Left us," He ended quietly, looking down. Francis looked away, a frown on his face. It was the only thing he could do. Arthur said nothing more as he moved from the window and said back down in his arm chair; picking his book back up. "Are you just going to stand there?" Arthur asked after a few minutes, and Francis looked towards him.

"I-" Francis started, pausing. "Yes," He said sullenly, and after a moment moved to sit in the arm chair across from from Arthur. He steepled his fingers for a moment before pushing them to either side; letting the joints pop at the pressure. "Matthieu will hate you if you hurt him Arthur," He said in a sharp tone, looking at Arthur for another moment before turning his attention to the rain gently hitting against the window pane.

Matthew slammed the door shut as soon as he had slipped inside. He pressed his closed fists into his eyes, glasses pressing into his forehead, tears slipping down his cheeks. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to keep back his quiet sobs, no matter how quiet he tried to be, they still echoed though the small stone room. A finger brushed against the backside of his hand, and he lowered his hands, wiping his eyes as he did so.

"Vat wrong немного подсолнечного? (Little sunflower). Vat has made you cry so much?"

"I-Ivan!" Matthew cried, fingers gripping tightly at Ivan's threadbare shirt. He pulled himself closer to the soldier before moving his arms, slipping them around Ivan's neck. "Father is being so cruel. He's not going to let me see you any more!" He cried into Ivan's neck. Ivan's thick arms curled around Matthew's waist.

"Ah, that English pig," Ivan growled lowly against Matthew's ear. "We need that key Matvey," he murmured, his tongue flicking out against the shell of Matthew's ear. The younger man shivered in Ivan's hold.

"Father will never let that key out of his sight now!" Matthew whimpered pitifully, resting his forehead against Ivan's collarbone as he settled between the elder man's legs. Ivan shifted, moving his legs slightly to accommodate him, his arms falling to his sides, the chains rattling with each movement of his arms.

"Little Matvey. You need to get that key," Ivan repeated in a cold tone, and Matthew pulled back from him only to have Ivan run his index finger along the line of Matthew's jaw, tilting his chin up. "As soon as possible," he added softly, joining their lips with a soft press. Matthew breathed out, his face burning up, Ivan's breath hot against his cheeks. Matthew backed away slightly before pushing himself up, wiping his eyes of any stray tears.

"I—I'll g-get it s-soon," he stuttered, worrying at his bottom lip. "I-I promise I w-will get it!" he pulled at his tunic before brushing the dirt off his backside. Ivan pushed his body backwards until his back met the wall. "I...I will return soon," He murmured softly, knocking on the door behind him. He turned back to Ivan for a moment to flash him a shy smile, cheeks flushed. The door pushed open a crack and Matthew turned to it before slipping out.

"Papa,"

Francis looked up at the sound; the cast iron pan in his hand hitting the metal of the stove with a sharp clang.

"Ah, Matthieu, good morning. How are you doing on this sunny day?" Francis replied, nodding towards the window to his right as he put some batter into the hot pan. "Take a seat, it won't be long before breakfast. I figured I'd make breakfast edible for once rather then that horrid Englishman's slop,"

"Don't remind me," Matthew said with a slight giggle as he pulled out a chair before sitting down at the table. "Ummmm...Papa, I...I.." he paused for a moment, thinking of his words. "Can you help me with something while your here?"

"Ah, what is it my dear?" Francis said, voice slightly muffled by the fact that he was turned away from Matthew.

"I do not even know if you would want to help me with this.. but... I know father would never do it..." he trailed off. Francis plated the crepe he was making, and poured more batter into the pan.

"Spit it out Matthieu. I am starting to get the feeling we'll both be punished for what you are about to ask of me,"

"I need the keys to Ivan's chains from Father," Matthew rushed out. "He keeps them on a shelf in his room," Francis turned towards him now, brow raised. "But I can't go in there, since he keeps his rooms locked when he's not in there," Francis turned to him; spatula in hand.

"It sounds like you want me to seduce him Matthew, to get into his room so I can get the key while he's sleeping," Matthew couldn't help turn bright red at this, an undignified _Papa!_ Squeaking out of his throat. "Well, it sounded like that is what you wanted me to do _Mon Cher._ But I'm not sure if I can, Arthur is a bit of a prude, and we have not been together since we... since Alfred and yourself came into our lives. He isn't like he used to be and I don't think ..." He faltered; turning back again to the stove. He picked up a hand towel and began to wipe down the counter. "I can't say he would react pleasantly to any advances Matthieu,"

"I...I know Papa, but I... I really, I don't know why I.."

"Do not worry about it," He said to Matthew as he turned back to the stove, adding the last crepe to the pile before picking up the plate and moving to the table with it. "I will take care of it. -Just give me a little time,"


	3. Words

Chapter 3

As Francis fluttered around the kitchen, he could hear the sullen footsteps of Arthur thudding around upstairs in his parlour. He picked up a ladle from a pot and dripped the ladles contents over the veal and vegetables, and then finished it off with a sprig of dill. He set the plate down in Arthur's spot before bringing his own plate to the table. He slipped a small box of matches out of the pocket of his dress coat, pulling out a match before striking it against the side, a spark creating a flame at the end of the small piece of wood. He cupped his hands around the flame as he moved slightly to light the two candles on the table. He pocketed the matchbox as he moved to throw the used match into garbage box before turning back to the table to look at his placings.

"Parfait," He murmured, pressing two of his fingers to his lips and blowing a kiss. "Arthur, better like this," he murmured as he pushed open the door leading into the hallway, turning to his left and heading up the stairs to Arthur's parlour. He knocked on the door, waiting for Arthur's bark.

"Yes?" Came a surly reply from the other side of the thick wooden doors. Francis took that as incentive to turn the knob and pushed the door open, sticking his blonde head just within view of Arthur. "What is it Frog?" He asked.

"I thought you might like to join me for dinner," He asked softly as he pushed the door open so he could slip though the opening.

"And why would I want to do that?" he spat out looking over his shoulder at Francis before turning back to his book.

"Because it is your favourite," Francis replied. "Blanquette du Veau," Arthur's head picked up at this, and he looked back over his shoulder again. He placed his book down on the end table before he pushed his hands down onto the arms of the chair, pushing himself into a standing position.

"I..Thank you," He said in a hushed voice. "It's been a while since I had that," he caused his eyes down to the floor for a moment before he moved towards Francis and the door. Francis stepped back and out of the way so Arthur could pass by him into the hallway.

"Mattieu has gone for the night. Not out as in town but he's gone to feed his Russian before he retires for the night. He's already had supper while you were sleeping,"

"I-" Arthur sputters for a moment before pulling a frown onto his face. "I was not sleeping," he grumbled out sourly. Francis shot him a quick smile as he walked down the hall, side by side as they headed to the kitchen, down the stairs and to the left of the sitting room. As the reached the door, Francis moved, an arm coming around Arthur, hand hovering just above the small of the others back as he opened the door to the kitchen.

"I hope it hasn't cooled too much, I plated it before I went upstairs to get you," Francis explained as he put a little pressure on Arthur's back with his palm, urging him into the room. Arthur nodded, taking a new tentative steps forward. He inhaled a breath, breathing in the delectable sent of Francis' cooking and his stomach grumbled in appreciation. His eyes flickered to the 'table', that is to say, the butchers block island in the middle of the room which had been set up so that one sat on the end and the other sat on the side so they were close to each other. Two slender candles sat in the middle, flames flickering gently. Francis pulled out a seat for him, more of a stool then anything else, but with a high back on it, and he couldn't help the flush that accompanied the small smile that pulled on his lips.

"What's wrong with you Frog? I thought you were not here to visit me. But you don't seem to be spending a lot of time with Matthew," he said in a lofty tone as he twisted in his seat. The Frenchman had his back turned from Arthur, and when he turned towards him he had two wineglasses in one had and a bottle of wine in the other. Arthur merely stared at him. "I'm not drinking tonight,"

"But, Angleterre, it's only one glass of wine. It will not kill you to have a few sips. I thought you might like it, I brought it with me from home," He set the glasses down on the block before showing Arthur the label.

"Meursault? You brought me Meursault?" Arthur asked, as bit taken back. Francis popped the cork out of the bottle and poured some into both glasses, the neck of the bottle clinking against the rim of the glass. "Why?"

"Well, I could say that I brought it just so I could use it to get you alone and drunk, but that would not be completely truthful," Francis started carefully. "I thought we could sit and talk for a while. Matthieu has been talking me you have been cruel since Alfred left, hardly talking to him outside of yelling and fighting," Arthur looked at him with narrowed eyes for a moment before picking up his glass and downing its contents in one burning gulp. "Let's eat dinner," Francis added softly, trying to change the subject as he started refilling Arthur's glass, ignoring the look of loathing Arthur continued to shoot him.

Dinner had been a quiet affair, Arthur had hardly spoke a word at all as he politely used all his table manners; sipping carefully at his wine as to not drink to much, taking small bites of veal and vegetables until his plate was cleared. When he was done Francis picked up Arthur's plate and then his own, placing them both into the wash basin to soak with the rest of the dishes he had dirtied. He topped off both of their glasses and motioned for them to exit the kitchen and take things into the sitting room. He turned towards the table before leaving, pinching out the candles dying flames with his index finger and thumb.

They moved quietly over to the sitting room, where one of the servants had already started a fire. Arthur moved to take his normal chair and Francis sat across from him, with only the low coffee table separating the two of them. Francis swished the wine in his glass carefully.

"How has the war been going on your side of this?" Francis asked softly, setting his glass down.

"We are fighting the same side for once you dunce. So unless you didn't hear we got Admiral Kornilov killed, then the seize fire. Other then that nothing has really happened outside of normal," He commented as he shifted uncomfortably, crossing his legs. Francis nodded in agreement with Arthur as he too, crossed his legs, clasping his hands together, resting them on his thigh.

"Yes, I've heard that too. Well. I guess we can leave it at that. Come now; converse with me. We have hardly seen or spoken since Alfred left. Need I remind you that it wasn't your fault? Alfred is his own person, he's at the age were he wants to go off on his own-"

"Shut up!" Arthur cut in. "I will not talk about that brat of a child!"

"Fine! Let's talk about Matthieu then. He seems pretty happy taking care of this Ivan fellow," he said, shifting again, waving his hand his hand nonchalantly.

"Stupid Russki," Arthur muttered, taking a drink. "You do know who is is yes?" Francis cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. "That's Braginski. Ivan Braginski,"

"_General __Ivan Braginski__?" _Francis asked, eyes widening. Arthur nodded. "So that's why you've kept him so long. Hasn't given up anything I take it?"

"Hardly," Arthur growled out shaking his hand in a round about motion. "All he ever says is things in Russian, except for when he is with Matthew, and even then it's just a few words that are hardly audible," Francis shook his head.

"Well telling Matthieu not to see him if not going to help with that. You need him to get information from Braginski Arthur, you're just ruining you chances,"

"I know, I know, don't remind me. Why are you hear again Frog?"

"To ravish you?" Francis laughed as Arthur flushed only at his response. Francis stood, put a hand down on the arm of Arthur's chair, leaned over his legs and tilted his head up using his thumb and index finger. "Can I kiss you?" He murmured softly as he leaned in; Arthur's eyes widened as Francis' tongue flicked out against his lips before pressing against them. He slipped his tongue into Arthur's slack mouth stroking his tongue against Arthur's. Arthur finally flinched, pushing Francis away with a push of his hand against his face. Francis let out another chuckle as he backed away slightly, trailing a finger over the others flushed cheek. "Oh, you're so easy to get to blush," he laughed.

"To hell with you!" Arthur barked out angrily, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. Francis only shrugged his shoulders as he sat back down.

"I can always taste that earl grey," he commented, licking his lips. Arthur snorted, turning his head away from Francis to look into the fire.

"I'll repeat myself again, To hell with you,"

Matthew pressed his body against the cold steel of the door, far out of Ivan's reach.

"I-I'm sorry! I s-still don't h-have them!" He stuttered, eyes lowered to the ground. Ivan growled lightly, but didn't get move to get up. He only tilted his head up, eyes narrowed at Matthew.

"Matvey, I've been vating a long time," He growled out. "I vant out of here," He pushed himself up off the stone floor and took a step towards Matthew. "Come," He motioned for Matthew to come closer to him. The blonde froze, eyes glued on Ivan's. "Now," He hissed. Matthew let out a shaky breath before forcing his legs to move forward, moving within Ivan's grasp. The older man grabbed his arm in a tight grip, yanking him over so he was chest to chest with Ivan almost, and the elder grabbed his chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting his head up.

"I..I..." Matthew tried to explain, but Ivan cut him off with a simple press of his lips against the younger mans. The blond tried to pull away, but Ivan's other arm snaked around his waist, holding him in place.

"You vhat? You promised me you vould get that key Matvey and I've not been seeing it," Ivan growled out, moving from Matthew's lips, kissing down the side of his jaw, down his neck. Ivan's hand moved up from his waist to the back of his neck. Matthew's breath hitched as Ivan's teeth came out to play, biting and nipping at his neck; sucking until the blood rushed to the surface. A noise escaped form Matthew's throat, causing Ivan to pull back and look Matthew in the face. The younger mans shoulders shook and his breaths came in shuddering gasps. Ivan brushed a thumb over his hot cheeks, while his other hand retreated from his neck, sliding back down his back, stopping to rest at the base of his spine. "You are so shy Matvey," Ivan murmured, nosing against Matthew's ear. Matthew pushed his hands against Ivan's chest, and Ivan let him go, watching as he scrambled up and away from him. He looked at Ivan as he backed against the door, just outside of Ivan's reach. His right hand rubbed against his neck where Ivan had left his 'love bite'.

"Y-you..y-you c-can't do t-that!" Matthew shuddered out. "I-I have suitors c-coming to s-see me! F-father will be e-even more u-upset now!" He rubbed against his neck, shoulders still shaking. "P-Papa is working as fast as he can," He ended in a whisper.

"Francis?" Ivan asked. "Ah, Da, Arthur and Francis were together at one point.. I forgot this," Ivan murmured. Matthew nodded. Ivan shook his head before moving to sit on his small cot.

"I-I'll b-bring the wash basin n-next time," Matthew murmured, lowering his hand from his neck to knock on the door behind him. The door slid open and Matthew skittered out of the cell and past John and George without a second glance.

Matthew took at the back hallways up to his room, avoiding all the help, and going backtracking around his father's rooms as well as the kitchen. As soon as he slipped into his room he ran to his powder room and locked the door behind him. He moved to his vanity, sitting down in front of it, staring at himself in the mirror. He let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding and ran a hand though his golden locks, pushing his hair back behind his ear, exposing the darkening bruise on neck. He touched it gently, wincing as he put a little bit of pressure on it. He lowered his hand, shaking his hair out around his ears again before his hands went flying over the contents of his vanity, before finally finding a small container. He unscrewed the lid and fine powder flew every wheres as he set it down on the table top. He took out the small, fine wool puff covered in an even finer flesh coloured pigment. He began to apply the powdered wool to the bruise on his neck, trying to cover it up. He bit his lip in frustration as it failed to cover up the darkening mark, regardless of how much pigment he applied. He tossed the wool pad down onto the counter top, a frown on his face, before he stood and exited his bathroom. He quickly moved to his closet, grabbing the first scarf he came across; a beautiful rich red one made up of a soft silk. He slipped it around his neck tied it as he headed back into the bathroom to make sure the marks were covered.

"Shit..." He groaned softly to himself, adjusting the scarf. "Papa will defiantly notice this..." He let out a long sigh as he fought with the scarf some more before giving up. Shaking his head some more he left the bathroom.

He peaked out the door, looking left and then right before he slipped back out of his room and shut the door quietly behind him. Stomach growling, he turned in the direction of the kitchen, hoping that Francis and Arthur had finished their supper and retired to upstairs parlour; he took the servants route to the kitchen and let out a happy sigh of relief when he found the kitchen empty, dishes in the wash basin. Searching around, he found some rolls in the bread box, he pulled a few apart then grabbed the butter dish off the counter before pushing himself up on a stool in front of the island in the middle of the kitchen. He buttered a roll before tearing a piece off and eating it. He groaned softly, letting his head roll back and looked up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes tiredly and remained that way for several minutes until he heard the doors hinges creak open.

"Mattie! Y-you're home!" Came a shocked voice. Matthew tilted back slightly, grabbed at the butchers block island to steady himself.

"J-Jack!" Matthew hopped down off the stool and ran the short distance to his brother, wrapping his arms around him in a hug. "It's been a while since I've seen you! You got so big since you've been gone!" Jack grinned sheepishly, rubbing his finger over the tip of his nose.

"Shh, not so loud. I'm not here for long. And I don't really want Dad to know, yeah? He's already fighting with Russia, and it hasn't been long since Alfred left..." He looked away from Matthew's questioning gaze.

"What's wrong?" Matthew asked quickly, in a hushed voice. "Where you looking for Papa? He's here as well, visiting," Jack shook his head.

"N-no, I... my people aren't happy right now..I'm not sure what to do. I think there might be some... how would Dad put it? Ah, _civil disobedience,_" He spat the words out with a shake of his head. "I'm of course, hoping it's nothing, but with the miners wanting more land and..well...I don't know," he ended with a sigh. "I just needed to get away for a few days, so I thought I would see what was up at the old house but it seems to be just as depressing here as it is at home, only it's colder here," Matthew took a step closer to Jack and placed a hand on his arm.

"Just don't let it get to you. And what ever you do, please, do not do what Alfred did. That's all anyone needs," Jack sighed softly shrugging away from him.

"You're always so laid back Mattie, how do you do it?" He asked, moving to lean against the counter. Matthew shrugged, a smile pulling at his lips.

"Secret," he replied with a laugh. "Did you want me to make you something to eat?" Again, Jack shook his head.

"Nah, I had dinner on the boat earlier, so I'm good. Maybe in the morning?"

"I thought you were not going to be staying? Have you changed your mind already?"

"Oh shut up you. You said Francis was hear right? Him and Dad getting back together or something?" Jack asked.

"Ummm...w-well..." Matthew stuttered then trailed off. "Well, they've been... they've b-been fighting with the R-Russians... and.. he has a f-few p-prisoners in the cells d-downstairs. I..." Jack snorted. "Papa's trying to help me g-get the k-keys to his cuffs,"

"Tsk. Mattie, always wanting to help people. You're too naive sometimes. Is he—I'm assuming it's a he- you know that anyone like that is just using you to get what he wants right? Bet he's being super sweet because you bring down his meals?"

"N-no.. I..I mean yeah, it is a man, but.. he's not.." Matthew dropped off, looking down towards the floor, avoiding Jack's eyes. His hand went to his neck, rubbing. Jack's eyes narrowed at him.

"Is he hurting you? Threatening you?"

N-no, nothing like that.. I..I like him..He's v-very h-handsome, and.. I—I want to help him," Matthew murmured in explanation. Jack took a step towards him and lifted his head up with his index finger. He moved Matthew's head left, then right, looking him over, before nodding.

"Be carefully Mattie. You don't know what he can do to you-"

"Stop it! God! Why does everyone think I'm a child?" Matthew pouted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"We worry about you Mattie, but listen, I'm going to head up to my old room and crash for a bit. Remember not to tell Dad I was here," He kissed Matthew on the forehead and turned, walking towards the servants hallways that lead upstairs.

"If he asks, I'm telling!" Matthew yelled after him; he received no response, only the sound of Jack's heavy boots hitting each step as he travelled upstairs. Matthew looks at the remains of his bed time snack and let out a sigh as he tossed what was left in the trash. He picked up the dirtied cutlery and placed it in the wash basin with the rest of the dirty dishes. He pondered for a moment about washing them, but then after staring at it for some time he shook his head and left it for the maids to clean in the morning with the breakfast dishes. Moments later he followed his brothers steps up to the second floor and and snuck down the hall to his room, tiptoeing past Arthur's room, and then Francis's room, although he doubted that Francis was in his own room. He slipped into his room and began stripping his clothes off soon as the door was shut and locked. He pulled his blankets back and collapsed into a hopefully dreamless sleep.

Author's Note.

I did not want to write this chapter... it hated me and I hated it. But plot doesn't write itself. Need some FrUk anyways lol. More Ruscan next chapter.


End file.
